Pancakes
by GrangerBlackPotter
Summary: Making pancakes is healing, at least if you ask Harry Potter, that's what he'd say. One month after the Battle of Hogwarts and Harry Potter is still having nightmares. He vowed to get better, and what better way to start than with breakfast. /Written for The Houses Competition Year 4, Round 5


**Author's Note**: Because I had too much time on my hands, but little to no contact with my muse for NL, I joined another competition. This one is written for, The Houses Competition, Year 4, Round 5.

**House:** Slytherin.

**Year:** Year 7

**Category:** Drabble

**Prompt:** [Food] Pancakes

**Word Count: **682 _(Without the A/N)_

I have personal experiences with trauma, not too far from PTSD as most of it are from fieldwork experiences. I hope you enjoy reading this one. I enjoyed writing this a lot.

**OoOoOo**

It's… healing.

"First, you make the batter," he said as he took a bowl from one of the cupboards.

"In a bowl, you mix one and a half cups of flour, three tablespoons of sugar, one and a half teaspoons of baking powder, half a teaspoon of salt and a quarter teaspoon of baking soda," he whispered to himself.

"In another bowl," he said, placing another bowl in front of him.

"You mix one cup of milk, four tablespoons of melted butter and one egg."

He then poured the mixture to the flour mixture he did earlier and started mixing the batter with a spatula in a circular manner – _routinely_.

"What are you doing Harry?" he heard a voice coming from the kitchen door.

It's been a month since what people now refer to as, the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry James Potter still has nightmares about it.

When he closes his eyes, he swore he could still see the silhouette of his parents, Remus, and Sirius telling him how proud they were of him.

How he is loved.

_So loved._

When he closes his eyes, he could still see the Hogwarts grounds filled with dead bodies he knew too well. The feeling of guilt swarming on him and filling him from the inside as he almost choked from holding his breath too long - 'not too long,' his mind treacherously reminded him.

_Luna._

_Seamus._

_Neville._

_Colin._

_Parkinson._

_Zabini._

_Professor Flitwick._

_That girl from Hufflepuff that he doesn't know the name of..._

_Faces_ \- too many _faces_.

When he closes his eyes, he could –

'I should've just died,' he thought bitterly as his mind wandered off of the watery batter.

'After all,' his mind added with a snort, 'It's better to die and be nothing, than to live and remember the feeling.'

A pair of arms circled his torso just then, and he tried to breathe in and breathe out, just as she taught him.

Panic attacks.

It happens to him a lot.

It happens to _her_ _too_.

"I'm making pancakes," he said, slowly.

She knew him anyway. She knew him, even without using the actual words, what he really isn't saying.

She's _amazing_ like _that_.

She knew about his nightmares, just as he knew about hers.

He felt a pang in his heart at the thought that he was the reason why she even lived through _that_ – why _she_ had to have _nightmares_.

He could still hear her screams.

"Harry," he heard her try again, her tone admonishing.

"I'm sorry Hermione," he told her sincerely.

"I'm really – I'm _really_ sorry," he added, his hands stopping to mix the batter as he closed his eyes and turned his head towards the ceiling, resting the back of his head on his best friend's head as he does so, trying to stop his tears from falling.

His emotions are getting the better of him again.

He's tired.

So _tired_.

He felt her grip on him tighten as she felt her body shaking behind him.

Controlled sobs.

He opened his eyes and let the spatula go before turning his body towards hers.

He hugged her as if his life depended on it.

And he felt her hugging him back, as if her life depended on that moment as well.

"I'm making pancakes," he told her again after a while, when they've both calmed down a bit.

"I'll start the coffee," she said after a pause.

When they've started this, Hermione promised to stay by his side, and she never faltered on that promise, not even when Ron left them.

'Now,' Harry thought as she let her best friend go and stared at her as she went unerringly towards the coffeemaker, 'Now it's my turn to never leave you.'

When he served her pancakes, he smiled at her.

When she served him coffee, she smiled at him.

And it was during their breakfast, between their stacks of pancakes and several cups of coffee, that he decided to voice his thoughts out loud.

"Maybe pancakes will be our healing," he said.

And they started to laugh.


End file.
